


Assured

by soupypictures



Category: Baseball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M, Oakland Athletics, minor league moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:28:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupypictures/pseuds/soupypictures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A survey of love in baseball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assured

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have been working on this for at least a year and a half. My need to write Ryan Ortiz with _someone_ began in Spring Training one year (... I guess it had to be 2012?), and while this took many turns getting to this point (there was a brief foray into Ortiz/Doolittle, DON'T EVEN ASK), I think this is how it was meant to be.
> 
> I'm not 100% happy with it, but I have come to the conclusion that this is as good as it's going to get, so now it's time to share it with the world.
> 
> Be free!
> 
> (The baseball details are for real. Or they'd better be, with the amount of time I spent combing through baseball-ref to see who was where at what time. All the rest is obviously made up, except Ortiz did date/is dating Bud Black's daughter, and the OSU fans didn't love him as much as they'd loved Canham.)
> 
> Dedicated to cack_handed, because she has been behind this even before I knew who Ryan Ortiz was. There's also a little nugget for horizon_greene. ;)
> 
> Oh also, for reference, and the original inspiration for this pairing: http://i39.tinypic.com/2dmflsp.jpg

_May 2012_

The player’s lot was covered by a thin layer of drifting dust. They were late to the ballpark. A dust storm blew in and kept them on the shoulder for a good half an hour. (Sonny had almost convinced them all that it was just like driving through rain, but Sean wasn’t having any of it.) Sonny had run ahead, leaving Ryan with Sean, who was locking up his truck and slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Look. When you get up to Sac, it's not going to be as laid back. You know?” Sean was using his “I've been there before” voice, the one he adopted when he was dispensing his sage minor league veteran advice.

Ryan tore his gaze from Sonny's back and focused on Sean. “What?”

“You and Sonny. You're going to have to learn to keep it under wraps.”

“Keep what under wraps?”

“C'mon, man. Don't front.”

Ryan put a hand on his arm to stop him. “No, seriously. What the fuck are you talking about?”

Sean stepped back. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

“Do I _sound_ like I'm fucking with you?”

“You and Sonny.”

“What about us?”

“You're going to make me say it, aren't you?”

“Yeah, because I have no idea—”

“If I didn't know better I'd say you've fucked at least once.” Sean started walking toward the player's entrance again.

Ryan shook his head, catching up. “We're not. We haven't.”

“But _you_ want to.” Ryan didn’t answer. “Look. I'm just trying to help keep you guys out of trouble. You know? Do what you want. Do _whom_ you want. It's probably okay down here, but Sacramento is just one stop from the Show. You're being a little obvious.”

“Sonny's like that with everyone!” he sputtered, the excuse he used to remind himself why he hadn't said anything to Sonny, why he hadn't pursued anything or put himself out there.

Sean stopped in his tracks, turned a look of disbelief on Ryan. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Sean—”

“I thought this was all just some kind of elaborate, flirty foreplay to pass the time. Are you _pining_?”

“Sean—”

“Ryan, you are wasting time. Either he's worth it—and personally, I'm not so sure he is—or he's not. You're stuck in limbo here and you ought to make a decision one way or another. I'm telling you, as an objective observer who's got a good read on people, Sonny would be down.” Sean paused. “You know, I didn’t think Sonny would be your type. Weren’t you and Canham—” but Sean stopped himself. “Nevermind. That’s none of my business.”

They reached the entrance. “Now,” Sean said, “get your head in the game. And promise me you're going to settle this. You've been hitting for shit lately.”

Ryan nodded.

“Alrighty.”

\---

_July 2011_

He’d been traveling for more than a day and his gear bag seemed to get heavier and heavier by the hour. Citibank felt like it was in the middle of a bowl of dust. He sneezed as he walked from the rental he’d parked in the player’s lot. He turned his head to wipe his nose on his sleeve and caught a familiar splash of color on the bumper of another car.

 _Oh fuck,_ Ryan thought as he put two and two together. _Mitch._

\---

For as long as he was at Oregon State, he’d kept close track of Mitch Canham’s career. But after the draft and once he started making his own way in professional baseball, keeping tabs on his former teammate was harder to do. He might have remembered Mitch being traded to the A’s, but Stockton had kicked his ass and some nights it was difficult to remember how to tie his shoes.

No one ever tells you how hard it actually is.

But Mitch had apparently kept track of him, closely enough to be waiting for him in the clubhouse, slinging an arm around his shoulder in greeting and using it as a pretense to lean close and whisper, “My place after, yeah?” Phrased like a question, but those never were with Mitch.

And so, it’s comfortable. It’s familiar. It comes with a lot of baggage, and maybe running on no sleep after a day of travel followed by a game wasn’t a good time to be making that decision, but Ryan let Mitch push him down by the shoulders and he hit the ground with his knees. It felt a little like when he was 18, but he’d put on twenty pounds since then and he’d gotten an inch in height on Mitch, too.

And anyway, it’d been awhile since he did this, and he kind of missed it.

He hadn’t been with a lot of guys since Mitch graduated, and every single one of them he’d compared to the memories he had of his former—and now current again—teammate. Mitch was always a little rough, and Ryan felt a little bit of a thrill when Mitch pulled himself out of his jeans and slid his other hand to the back of Ryan’s neck. 

“Oh, I’ve missed your mouth, Ortiz,” Mitch sighed as Ryan worked his mouth down around his cock, and in this new town with a new team, Ryan was a little more at ease with that familiar weight on his tongue.

Later, he thought, _this is so fucked up._

\---  
_May 2012_

Ryan's palms were sweaty. He was at Sonny's apartment to hang out. There’s not much of anything to do in Midland and with the dust he didn't want to risk getting stranded on the way to or from Odessa. Murph's girlfriend was in town so they were at her hotel for the night and Sonny was alone. Either way it turned out, Ryan was thankful there wouldn't be a third wheel.

His conversation with Sean had been rolling around in his skull for a good week, and he finally felt like he’d manned up enough to put his heart out on his sleeve. Maybe stitched right there over the Rockhounds logo. He hadn’t been this nervous since he told Bud Black’s daughter he’d been sleeping around on her with his college teammate.

Sonny opened the door just before Ryan could get his hand up to knock. “Hey, I heard you walking up the stairs. Why were you just standing there?”

Ryan held up the DVD he’d picked up from Redbox at the CVS on Andrews. “Movie? We could order pizza.” 

Sonny grinned and plucked the movie from his hand. “How did you know I was bored?”

Ryan rolled his eyes and followed Sonny into the apartment. “Because Murph is at the La Quinta?”

“Good call. Meatlovers?” Sonny brandished his cell phone and Ryan voiced the affirmative, flinging himself down on the second-hand couch. While Sonny called in the order (“There’s an app for that!” Ryan had yelled out last time, but Sonny likes to talk to people, don’t you know that?), Ryan tried to reorient himself around this new pursuit. 

Sonny might be the diametric opposite of Mitch Canham. And with Mitch as his only point of reference for let’s-be-more-than-teammates relationships, Ryan was at a loss. He was still not one hundred percent sold that Sonny wasn’t just a really friendly guy. 

Time would tell.

\---

It wasn’t until Sonny was sitting astride his lap that Ryan could let go of every doubt he’d built up in his head that their dinner-plus-redbox nights weren’t more than the requisite pitcher-catcher bonding he’d accepted as necessary for a healthy working relationship in professional baseball. 

He had to give a hat-tip to Sean.

“Sonny?” he asked, kind of quiet and a little breathless, because if he was honest with himself he hadn’t let himself go _this_ far in his mind. But at that moment, Ryan’s hands were settled on Sonny’s hips and the pitcher had his resting on Ryan’s shoulders. The room was dark, the only illumination coming from the cheap flatscreen and the movie credits crawling up the black.

“I want to kiss you,” Sonny said by way of explanation and that sounded about right for Sonny, just kind of reaching out and taking what he wanted. Except he hadn’t exactly done that yet, had just made himself comfortable on Ryan, and Ryan realized he wouldn’t want to complain about that last bit.

Ryan, not one to generally just take what he wants, decided to follow Sonny’s lead and leaned up to brush his mouth against Sonny’s, soft and momentary and also, he realized, a long time coming. He pulled back briefly to swear and curve his hand over Sonny’s hip to rest on his ass.

Sonny groaned and leaned forward to recapture Ryan’s mouth, and this was Sonny not fucking around. Ryan had been behind the plate for this version of the pitcher, but having the focus of that energy on his body and not his glove was ... dizzying.

And that was how they started: May in Midland on a thrift store couch.

\---  
_September 2006_

The night Mitch first kissed Ryan, they were both really drunk. It was fall semester and so all they had to do was go to class and pay attention. It was a Wednesday night, the house Mitch lived in was famous for its Midweek parties, and Ryan ended up tagging along on the beer run. 

When they got back to the house, it was already loud. The guys were setting up the table for beer pong and half of some women’s sports team (swimming? volleyball? Ryan was never good at that) were lounging around the room. An upperclassman collared Ryan and gave him a significant look before shoving him down a hallway with a red solo cup in his hand.

Sometime later Ryan found himself on the couch, ESPN muted, and everyone else was outside, hooting and hollering and carrying on. Mitch sat down on the couch beside him, took the empty beer bottle from Ryan’s hand, and pulled him in. Ryan let himself be led, let himself forget about Jamie, let himself give in.

They didn’t do much more than kiss, that first night, and after that first night they didn’t kiss much more, but Mitch taught him everything he knew off the field, and Ryan tried with all his might to be everything they expected him to be on the field. And through his college years he could outperform those expectations at the plate, could improve his defense to the point that even umpires would remark about it, but there was always something missing. Always some way he wasn’t measuring up to Mitch, always some way he wasn’t filling his shoes. No one was nasty about it, and no one said anything to his face, but he could feel that absence out in front of the fans. 

That hurt, and he’d always carry a little bit of that _less than_ with him on his sleeve.

\---  
_June 2012_

Sonny’s numbers didn’t look all that good, and that concerned Ryan but the pitcher just shrugged it off. “It’s not about the numbers,” he insisted. And maybe for Sonny it wasn’t, but Ryan was constantly plagued by his numbers. He wasn’t a first-round pick. He felt like he was a game away from a demotion, a final cut, _the end_.

“That’s no way to play,” Sonny would say, then smile at him and tug him close for a hug, and for a few minutes he’d forget about not being enough for baseball. (Because at least for a little while he was enough for _Sonny_.)

\---  
_August 2011_

They got word that the first-round draft pick was getting called up after one start in rookie ball. There was the predictable amount of locker room shit talking about it that made Ryan somewhat uncomfortable. Mitch didn’t join in, just sat at his locker and shook his head like _these kids, these fucking kids._

“Heard he’s got a curve to die for,” Ryan said to Mitch casually, mistaking the older catcher’s outward disapproval of the talk for something kinder.

Mitch arched an eyebrow at Ryan, the dark part of him coming out for a brief moment. “Yeah? He’s got a _curve_ , Ortiz?” And just like that, it was gone. Ryan felt his face heat up and he pushed himself away from the wall to head back to his locker.

When Sonny Gray did show up, all new and young and literally bright-eyed, everyone welcomed him and made him feel at home. Ryan got to know him like a catcher should, but not how he wanted to. That wasn’t going to happen with Mitch there by his side, taking his elbow and guiding him through the season like he’d guided him through college ball.

\---  
_July 2012_  
Ryan had been demoted. 

He sat on his—their—bed and stared at his phone. His breath had left his lungs and he couldn’t seem to reinflate them, a ridiculous vision flitting through his head of withered balloons sitting beside a rapidly beating heart. He pressed his hand to his chest, trying to keep his soul inside his thoracic cavity. He could feel the air whistling through the vacuum, seeking to equalize the pressure. 

“Ry? Who was that?”

He looked up at Sonny in the doorway, backlit by the hall light. He was wearing his Vanderbilt pajama pants and no shirt, ready for bed and probably wondering why Ryan hadn’t stripped down too. Sonny took a couple of steps into the room. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

He shook his head, pulled in a shuddering breath that sounded something like bronchitis creaking its way through his lungs. “Stockton,” Ryan choked out, and Sonny froze. 

“What?”

“I’ve been demoted. I—I have to pack.” He stood up and headed for the closet. Sonny grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“Ryan, hold on.”

“No, I leave in the morning, I have a flight, I have to get my shit together—”

“Ryan, please.”

Ryan stopped when Sonny’s arms slid around him, and Ryan couldn’t help but return the touch. He turned his head to breathe in the smell of Sonny ready for bed. Minty with a touch of his cologne, the sweet smell of the shampoo he used at the park because it reminded him of his sisters. “It’s just for a little while. Stockton’s not so bad, it’s at least closer to Oakland—”

“It’s not Stockton, Sonny. I don’t want to leave you.”

Sonny made a soft, pained noise. “You won’t be leaving me. You can’t leave me, Ry, you got under my skin.” Ryan held him closer and started to speak, but Sonny interrupted him. “We could do this all the way through,” he said into his neck, softly like he was trying not to startle the catcher. Ryan curled a hand around the back of Sonny’s neck. “Here, Stockton, Sacramento and one day Oakland, you and me. You don’t—you don’t have to leave me here. And it’s just a few months until the off-season, and who knows, right, you could be back up if something happens or I could end up in Sacramento, that’s only an hour away from Stockton ...” and Sonny kept murmuring into Ryan’s neck all of the possibilities for them but Ryan was stuck on the difference between Stockton and Sacramento, and the difference between being a Single-A catcher and a first-round pick.

\---  
_March 2013_

Ryan Ortiz sat in the passenger’s seat of the rental car, his gym bag on his lap. He zipped and unzipped the bag and stared out the window toward the clubhouse. He didn’t start the car or put on the A/C, so he was starting to roast as he waited for the last meeting to let out. He waited for the last clutch of players to spill out of the doors, smiling and ready for the next chapter of their baseball careers. He leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes, exhaustion settling heavy on his shoulders. His knees already ached and they were just finishing up spring training. The news he’d gotten in the clubhouse had only multiplied the aches and pains that came with being a catcher.

The driver’s door was opened and Ryan sat up, looking over. “Hey, Sonny,” he said, trying to be cheerful. “Good news?”

“Nothing unexpected,” Sonny Gray said, and he was deliberate in his movements as he sat down in the driver’s seat. “You?”

Ryan sighed and looked out the window again. “Stockton.”

“Oh, Ryan.” Sonny’s hand came to rest on Ryan’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Are you okay?”

“Not right now,” because if he’d learned anything, it was that he had to be honest with Sonny. “Can we just—can we just go?”

Sonny took his hand back to start the car. “Whatever you want, babe. Are you hungry?”

“Not really, but if you are, we could stop somewhere.”

“I’ll be okay, we have some leftover pizza.” 

“If you want something else—”

“Ryan, don’t start with that. If I say I’ll be okay, I’ll be okay.”

“Sonny—”

“You are not a burden,” Sonny said sternly and Ryan came back to himself.

“I know. I’m just—I’m tired, Sonny.” Ryan covered his face with his hands and tried not to cry. Stockton was bad enough, just thinking about that and the fucking apartment complex he’d be calling home for likely the rest of his career and how much he hated the laundry room and how it smelled like old towels. _That_ was bad enough. But packing up all of his gear, his whole life now, putting it into a car and driving hours and hours back to Single-A ... That was too much to contemplate. And his knees already ached. And he had to do all of it without Sonny.

But Sonny’s voice was sure, strong, and acted like an anchor. “We’re gonna go home. We’re gonna eat that leftover pizza and catch up on the DVR. You can be the little spoon on the couch if you want, and I’ll take care of you.” He reached over to cover Ryan’s hand on his bag with his own. “We’ll worry about the rest of it in the morning.”

Ryan turned over his hand and interlaced his fingers with Sonny’s. “I love you, Sonny,” he said quietly, and looked over at Sonny to see the smile flash across the pitcher’s face.

“I love you too, babe. We’re gonna make it.”

\---

Later, curled up around one another on the couch, Sonny tried his best to get Ryan to see the positive side of his Stockton assignment.

“You’ll be just down Ninety-Nine from me. If you were in Midland you’d be like a thousand miles away. That sucked when it was the other way around. I don’t want to have to do that again.”

Ryan rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling, Sonny caught between him and the back of the couch. “But it’s _Stockton_ ,” he whined, allowing himself just a little while longer to feel sorry for himself.

“‘The Most Miserable City in America,’ I know.”

“I really thought I had a shot at ending up in Sacramento,” Ryan said quietly, closing his eyes. He hadn’t admitted to anyone that he’d set his sights that high and had that expectation. He hadn’t admitted it to anyone for this very reason—he’d be sharing his utter embarrassment at his failure with other people. But Sonny ... Sonny was another story now. Ryan had hoped, not just for his baseball career but for his sake of his budding romance that he and Sonny could spend a few months together playing baseball that counted. They’d had weeks here and there in the off-season, in California and Tennessee, but he wanted to be able to plan for more.

Sonny leaned over and Ryan breathed him in, then pulled him down for a kiss. “You never know what’s gonna happen,” Sonny said as he pulled away again. “You’re a catcher. Catchers get hurt up the ranks and since Stockton’s a stone’s throw from Sac, you could be up in a heartbeat. Just don’t lose faith, okay?”

Ryan looked up at Sonny, hearing concern in his voice. “Babe, I’m not giving up. I’m just disappointed. I’ll get over it.” He attempted a smile, probably failed miserably, and Sonny snuggled back down to lie against him.

“Whatever happens, I’ll be here. Okay?”

Ryan wrapped his arms around the pitcher and smiles for real. “I know.”

“And we’re going to get to drive back to California together. Just you and me and the road. So get excited for a roadtrip with Sonny Gray, because you’re never going to forget it.”

\---  
_May 2013_

And it wasn’t long before someone was injured in Oakland and the repercussions reverberated down the affiliation chain. Ryan met the team in Fresno a day after Sonny threw a complete game and he promptly went 0-for-4 in his River Cats debut.

Sonny took him to bed when they got back to his apartment, and Ryan felt like he was home. He’d been to that apartment a couple of times already, but that was fighting traffic and temporary and this time, he had all of his gear and there was no early alarm to send him on his way back south in the morning. He could unpack his bags and put his T-shirts away in the dresser. It didn’t have to be his stuff and Sonny’s stuff, but _their_ stuff. Mingled. Merged.

Sonny was warm underneath him, high off last night’s success and almost squirming in his giddiness. “You’re here,” he breathed. They were naked, pale chests and legs contrasting with the deep tans of their forearms and necks, showing off nearly a lifetime of playing a game outdoors for every month of the year that it’s feasible.

“I don’t know for how long, but yeah. I’m here now.” He nosed his way down Sonny’s face and kissed the corner of his mouth. Knowing every night for the foreseeable future could be spent together at _their_ place, in _their_ bed, Ryan could finally breathe easily. “How do you want me?” he asked softly.

“ _Forever_ ,” Sonny whispered, hands tracing up Ryan’s sides and sliding around his back to span across his lats.

Ryan’s heart rate picked up and his “Yeah?” came out a little breathless. 

It’d been almost a year since that night in Midland, and while they hadn’t spent all of those months physically in the same place, Ryan knew his heart hadn’t gone far from Sonny’s. He had a hard time convincing himself that the same could be said of Sonny, and then it was like he could sense it and threw out exactly what Ryan needed to hear to _know_ it. 

Sonny pulled Ryan down on top of him and turned his head to speak into Ryan’s ear, “While you were gone I had dreams of you holding me down and fucking me through the mattress. I woke up so hard.” And Ryan could feel him hard against his hip and groaned out loud.

“Sonny—”

“ _Fuck me, Ryan_.”

Ryan cursed and reached down to ascertain if Sonny’d been up to no good by himself, and the slick residue between his legs gave him away. “Tell me what you were thinking about.”

“When?” But his smirk was sly and his body undulated under Ryan’s, brushing against him in all the right places.

“When you opened yourself up for me.” Ryan felt under the pillow for the condom he knew Sonny had stashed there. Nothing. He felt under the other pillow. “Sonny?”

Sonny’s legs came up around him and his grey eyes locked onto Ryan’s in the half-light. “I was thinking about the first time you kissed me, and when you got sent down last year and said you loved me, and the time you took me to that reptile museum in Lodi—”

“That was two weeks ago—”

“—and you fucked me in the back of the car because I wanted it even though it was really cramped for you and you’re not into doing stuff in public—”

“What—”

“—and about you coming inside me for the first time.”

“But Sonny ...”

“Please, Ry. I want you inside me.” His hands were on the side of Ryan’s face now, pulling him down again. Voice soft, breath hot, “I want to feel you there even after you’re gone.”

And it was scary, a little, to think about being _gone_ from Sonny so soon after being near to him again but Ryan couldn’t say no to anything Sonny wanted, no matter how he phrased it or the impetus behind it. Sonny’s mouth in bed would never fail to make him swear and do whatever the fuck he was asking. He checked to make sure Sonny was ready for him, and at the insistent nudge of Sonny’s heel against his ass, Ryan took himself in hand and pressed in.

Sonny tipped his head back and gasped, bore down and Ryan closed his eyes briefly to shut out that unbelievably erotic image that was threatening to make him come then and there.

“Love you, Ry, come on.” His voice was a little strained and he pulled him closer still with his leg hitching higher up over Ryan’s hip. “Come on, take me.”

So Ryan did, the way Sonny liked it. Slow and deep and face to face, mouths brushing together on the upstroke. “Talk to me,” Ryan gasped. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He didn’t waste a second. “When you’re all geared up I watch—ohrightthere—I watch you behind the plate, I watch your ass,” and he reached down to dig his fingers into that muscle, “and I think about this, about touching you, about how strong you look ... and feel, and oh god, I’m close, just—” Ryan reached between them and took hold of Sonny, three tight strokes bringing him off. “Come on, baby, come for me,” Sonny panted, tugging Ryan closer.

Ryan wouldn’t be able to hold back even if he wanted, and he didn’t, not with that look on Sonny’s face and his hands clutching his ass and the feel of Sonny tight around him. 

He let his weight rest on Sonny for a minute afterward, catching his breath. Sonny’s breath caught when Ryan slipped out. “You’re going to be the death of me,” Ryan breathes, moving off Sonny onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow to get a good look at his sweaty lover.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You okay? That wasn’t too .... much?”

Sonny smiled and shook his head. “No, I feel good.” He rolled onto his side and faced Ryan, scooted himself closer and pressed a kiss to Ryan’s mouth. “Thank you.”

Even though he felt like he should be the one thanking Sonny (and he’d gone so far as to say this before, but Sonny had leveled him with a look and said, “Learn to accept my gratitude,” in a tone Ryan knew he’d learned from his mother), Ryan smiled back. “You’re welcome.”

Sonny snuggled in close and Ryan enveloped him in his arms, ignoring the mess between them. “Let’s sleep. Game tomorrow.”

 _Game tomorrow_. They’d go to the ballpark together, sit in the same dugout, and come home at the end of the day to share a bed. For however long he was able to keep it, Ryan was going to revel in that closeness and their shared time. No way it was going to last as long as he wanted.

\---  
_October 5, 2013_

Ryan was leaning up against the wall of the hallway outside the clubhouse when Sonny, jersey gaping, found his way to him. He was grinning ear to ear, and it took all of Ryan’s composure to keep to a friendly hug. 

“Are you packed?” Sonny asked expectantly as he pulled back, something extra in his eyes that made Ryan take his hand, exposure be damned. 

“What?”

“For Detroit.”

Ryan sighed and he could _feel_ how disappointed Sonny was going to be when he reminded him of his travel situation. “Sonny, I told you that I don’t have a flight to Detroit—”

But Sonny was impatient and waved him off. “No, on the charter. With me.”

Ryan’s breath whistled out of his chest. “What?”

“I cleared it through Mickey already.” Sonny took his other hand. “He said it’s not a problem.”

Ryan said quietly, “It’s only wives and girlfriends—” but Sonny was shaking his head before he was two words in.

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, babe, you’re my significant other.” 

“But that means...” Ryan trailed off, squeezing Sonny’s hands. “ _Sonny_. That’s a lot. Are you—are you sure?”

“Are you kidding me? You know I don’t give a shit about that stuff. We talked about this in Sac, right, and all of those guys know. If the rest of my guys know, that’s okay.” Sonny leaned into Ryan’s space, sliding his arms around Ryan’s torso and tucked his head under Ryan’s chin. “Listen, it’s important to me that you go with me. I need you there.” 

Ryan gripped Sony’s hip. “If you pitch again this series, it’s going to be back here—”

“It’s more than you being in the stands when I pitch, Ry. I need you next to me, I need you near me and this is like the biggest thing, right, and I want to share this with you. Somehow. I know you’d rather be in the dugout but you could at least be there in the stands for me and I’ll know it. I can feel you there.” He took a deep breath. “I have to have you near me.”

Ryan slid his arm around Sonny’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “Okay. I’ll go.”

“You will?”

“I will. And I’ll sit with all the wives and girlfriends—”

“Hey, there are some brothers, too, and other male family members, so you can’t act like I’m pressuring you into this burdensome situation where you have to sit with a bunch of _girls_.”

“What do you want me to say to them? If they ask? _When_ they ask, because some of those wives—”

“Tell them the truth.”

“And what’s that?” His tone was half-teasing, because he _knew_ , but it was always better to hear Sonny say it in that soft Tennessee accent. Always better to see it in his face.

Sonny look up at him and pressed a kiss to his mouth, sweet and chaste and right there outside the clubhouse where anyone could walk by. “You tell them, Ryan, that you’re my everything.”

His chest warmed. “Oh yeah?”

“And then tell them to shut the fuck up and watch the game.”

Ryan laughed. “I’ll probably not say the last thing.” He ran his thumb along Sonny’s poseur moustache and then back to cradle Sonny’s neck in his hand. “But I’ll definitely say the first.”

They were standing like that, close and unmistakable when Sean Doolittle wandered out into the hallway, already dressed in his getaway clothes and looking upon them with disapproval in his eyes. Ryan’s stomach clenched in response, but Sean had his eyes on Sonny’s jersey.

“Damnit, Gray, get dressed, we leave in an hour and you still have to do press.”

Sonny cursed and started to do up his buttons. “Ry?”

“My go-bag’s in the car, I’ll be fine.”

“It’s cold there though.”

“Like I have a coat here anyway? You’ll buy me one tomorrow.”

“Oh I will, will I?”

“Hell yes you will, get the fuck out of here. They wanna talk to you.”

Sonny darted his eyes over to Sean for a quick appraising look before turning back to Ryan and hugging him goodbye. “I’ll see you on the plane, you can have the aisle,” he whispered in his ear and then he was gone, rushing back around the corner to head to the presser.

“It’s about fucking time.”

Ryan steeled himself, ready for what he’d felt was the inevitable since he first looked at another guy as something more than a teammate or competition. Since Mitch.

“Calm your horses, big guy, I don’t give a shit. You know that.” He paused, considering. “We don’t give a shit.” He took a few steps closer and pitched his voice lower. “And if anyone gives you any trouble, I’ll take care of it.”

Ryan nodded in response, easing up, and remembering his conversation with Sean that kicked this all off. “Thanks. For everything.” 

Sean shrugged. “No problem.” And despite his words, Ryan can tell in Sean’s face that he wasn’t just thanking him for being cool now, but also for being cool down in Midland.

\---  
_October 10, 2013_

It was quiet outside the Coliseum. The fans had been gone for hours, and Sonny had remained in the clubhouse with the trainers for long enough to make Ryan uncomfortable. He’d struggled with throwing his bags in the back of the car and it’d taken him two tries to open the door. 

“I think it’s broken,” he said quietly, staring at his splinted thumb.

That’s all he said for the whole ride home. Ryan filled the air with news about his family, what he’d discussed with Sonny’s mother on the way over to the park that afternoon, how he’d hired a company to move Sonny’s belongings to Arizona when the lease was up so he could fly out to Tennessee sooner to visit his family. Ryan didn’t add that he’d bought himself a flight too, booked the seat next to Sonny.

They traipsed up the stairs of the apartment complex, Sonny in front and despite the circumstances, Ryan couldn’t help but check out his ass. He tightened his grip on Sonny’s bags as the pitcher keyed open the door and stepped inside. Ryan followed him and dropped the bags by the door. His eyes were barely adjusted to the soft lighting from the kitchen when he found himself with his arms full of Sonny. He was warm and solid and didn’t feel any different than any other day, maybe a little more desperate, but a lot had happened in the last six hours.

“I love you,” Ryan said, a fierce note of protection in his voice and possessiveness in the strength of his arms. 

Sonny buried his face in Ryan’s neck and Ryan swore he heard a sniffle. 

“Baby? Are you ... are you crying?” He pulled away to see wet tracks on Sonny’s cheeks. “Oh, babe.”

He knew he couldn’t understand the hurt that Sonny felt, physically or emotionally. Well, probably the physical hurt he could understand. Ryan hadn’t ever broken his thumb, but he’d had broken bones before. And his knees ached when the weather changed, like an old man. But the emotional hurt ... on the one hand, he’d like to know what that felt like, because it’d mean he was with the team in the postseason. Even if they didn’t win, that’s where he’d like to be. On the other hand, his heart hurt only for Sonny now, and after all the times Sonny had to boost his spirits, tell him that he had a chance, that he was meant for something higher than Single-A, Ryan’s thankful that he could be unselfish in this moment. No wallowing in his own self-pity like he was wont to do. 

He could hold Sonny close and let his shoulder get wet through his sweater and whisper the things that Sonny needed to hear, even though he didn’t believe them in that moment.

_You belonged out there._

_You did the best you could._

_It’s not your fault._

Later, Sonny would have surgery to set his thumb and Ryan would do a really bad job of monitoring his post-surgery drug-induced social media usage. They would fly to Nashville and eat ice cream out of a glass measuring bowl because they’d neglect to do any dishes for two weeks straight.

They’d fly back to California after Christmas to spend time with Ryan’s family, warm and sunny, and then count down the days until they drove to Phoenix, unscathed by Billy’s off-season moves. They’d try their best in February and March, the rosters would shake themselves out, and they would deal with the repercussions as they had grown used to doing. 

Maybe the game would come between them. Maybe Ryan’s history with Mitch would rear its ugly head at the most inopportune moment. Maybe Sonny would see something in a pretty Southern brunette that he couldn’t get from Ryan, or maybe they would grow apart in the space between the minor leagues and Oakland. 

But maybe the A’s would make it to October again, and this time punch through the first round. Maybe Ryan would be in the dugout that time, if not on the field, and maybe 2014 wouldn’t end with the heartbreak of 2013. Ryan was learning to look at the world through the flashy sunglasses Sonny would buy for him, and while on occasion he’d slip and let himself think of the worst possible scenario, Sonny would be there to shine the light on their lives.

And no, Sonny never got tired of that pun.


End file.
